November 1st,
11.00 a.m.
Dear diary,
OK- just forget the optimism of my last letter!
My so-called relationship with Albus is still exactly was she has always been… non-existing! I think Miss Evans' view has, like that of most girls her age, been blurred by a too romantic mind. Albus often smiles at me, true, but that's only logical- I am one of his best friends. And yes his eyes do twinkle, but then again they always twinkle! He has such wonderful eyes, you know…
Alright, Minerva, stop acting teenager-ish and face it… But face what?
Damn, I don't know. Headache, oh, headache.
And not only because of Albus- heck, I should have been having headaches for twenty ruddy years in that case. Also because of the number one reason of teachers' headaches.
The Marauders.
They have again broken into the Restricted Section of the library. They should have known better by now, though- James Potter may own an Invisibility Cloak, that won't help him if he gets deaf one of these days! Although it would be a more proper punishment than taking points from Gryffindor… hell, I don't want to take any more points from Gryffindor!
I wonder what they are searching for, actually. It is not plain mischief this time- they are way too persistent. But the Restricted Section only contains of books on advanced Defense against the Dark Arts and Transfigurations… not really two of their interest, really. Anyway, they have even tried a few forged notes! Poor Pettigrew kid- being the slowest of the foor, Irma Pince's curse hit him the worst. He was out of the Hospital Wing in three days, though, which must be a record indeed!
Yes, Irma Pince… She's been at Hogwarts since my own school days, actually- and it was not easy to trick her, yet Poppy's talent for imitating other people's handwriting managed to deceive her once!
Anyway, the Marauders are going to make us lose the House Cup one of these days- and I will then unfortunately have to kill them.
I am already in a bad mood- and…
Hey, wait, dear diary, do I perceive a new Marauders prank? Something is shoved under my door- gods, I'll bite them…
=10 minutes and uncontrolled cries of happiness later=
My. Dear. Beloved. Diary.
You cannot possibly believe what just happened; you can't. You cannot. You simply- can't!
So, about 10 minutes ago, I ran towards the door and furiously threw it open. I saw no-one- heard some footsteps in the distance. Before me, on the floor, lay a piece of written on parchment. I must admit I eyed it rather suspiciously.
Until I recognized the handwriting.
It was Albus's- his very own, curly yet neat scribbling, and his very own purple ink.
I can't possibly tell you what it said- I will copy it!
=
Dearest Minerva –he called me "dear"!-
I think me and you have some things to discuss, so I suggest having a quiet, nice dinner together. Might I propose tomorrow as a suitable date? Tomorrow night, 8 o'clock, Room of Requirement?
Love,
Albus
=
It is so short, but so extremely hope-giving!.
No, Minerva, mustn't dream, mustn't dream…
But I cannot help it.
I will have sweet dreams tonight.
Goodnight.
11.00 a.m.
Dear diary,
OK- just forget the optimism of my last letter!
My so-called relationship with Albus is still exactly was she has always been… non-existing! I think Miss Evans' view has, like that of most girls her age, been blurred by a too romantic mind. Albus often smiles at me, true, but that's only logical- I am one of his best friends. And yes his eyes do twinkle, but then again they always twinkle! He has such wonderful eyes, you know…
Alright, Minerva, stop acting teenager-ish and face it… But face what?
Damn, I don't know. Headache, oh, headache.
And not only because of Albus- heck, I should have been having headaches for twenty ruddy years in that case. Also because of the number one reason of teachers' headaches.
The Marauders.
They have again broken into the Restricted Section of the library. They should have known better by now, though- James Potter may own an Invisibility Cloak, that won't help him if he gets deaf one of these days! Although it would be a more proper punishment than taking points from Gryffindor… hell, I don't want to take any more points from Gryffindor!
I wonder what they are searching for, actually. It is not plain mischief this time- they are way too persistent. But the Restricted Section only contains of books on advanced Defense against the Dark Arts and Transfigurations… not really two of their interest, really. Anyway, they have even tried a few forged notes! Poor Pettigrew kid- being the slowest of the foor, Irma Pince's curse hit him the worst. He was out of the Hospital Wing in three days, though, which must be a record indeed!
Yes, Irma Pince… She's been at Hogwarts since my own school days, actually- and it was not easy to trick her, yet Poppy's talent for imitating other people's handwriting managed to deceive her once!
Anyway, the Marauders are going to make us lose the House Cup one of these days- and I will then unfortunately have to kill them.
I am already in a bad mood- and…
Hey, wait, dear diary, do I perceive a new Marauders prank? Something is shoved under my door- gods, I'll bite them…
=10 minutes and uncontrolled cries of happiness later=
My. Dear. Beloved. Diary.
You cannot possibly believe what just happened; you can't. You cannot. You simply- can't!
So, about 10 minutes ago, I ran towards the door and furiously threw it open. I saw no-one- heard some footsteps in the distance. Before me, on the floor, lay a piece of written on parchment. I must admit I eyed it rather suspiciously.
Until I recognized the handwriting.
It was Albus's- his very own, curly yet neat scribbling, and his very own purple ink.
I can't possibly tell you what it said- I will copy it!
=
Dearest Minerva –he called me "dear"!-
I think me and you have some things to discuss, so I suggest having a quiet, nice dinner together. Might I propose tomorrow as a suitable date? Tomorrow night, 8 o'clock, Room of Requirement?
Love,
Albus
=
It is so short, but so extremely hope-giving!.
No, Minerva, mustn't dream, mustn't dream…
But I cannot help it.
I will have sweet dreams tonight.
Goodnight.